


A Light From the Shadows Shall Spring

by ShiieldMaidenofGondor



Series: I Was Hoping It'd Be You [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, hella canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiieldMaidenofGondor/pseuds/ShiieldMaidenofGondor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma and Killian fell through Zelena's portal, they thought they had landed in the Enchanted Forest. That was, until they came across a Hobbit. It is going to take a lot of stubbornness, ingenuity, and most of all, help, for them to make it back.</p>
<p>Originally written for CS AU Week 2k15</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storybrooke, We Have a Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [There and Back Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3741547) by [ShiieldMaidenofGondor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiieldMaidenofGondor/pseuds/ShiieldMaidenofGondor). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all, and welcome to my third piece for AU Week!  
> Day 3: another realm. I saw a loophole here for another crossover and I took it.
> 
> An important note about this fic is that it is based largely on my headcanon that Emma read and loved the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings books as a kid. (Feel free to go check that out in one of my other oneshots, There and Back Again)
> 
> I don't own Once Upon a Time or Lord of the Rings. If I did, I wouldn't have student loans.

“One of these days I’m going to stop chasing this woman,” Killian muttered to himself, even as he wrenched his hook from the dirt and was sucked into the portal.

When Killian emerged from the portal, he found himself falling onto hard ground, rolling with the fall. Beside him, Emma was groggily getting to her feet and observing their surroundings. 

“No- how-” she started to ask, but she didn’t even bother finishing her sentence. 

“It appears that we’re back in the Enchanted Forest,” Killian guessed, based on their wooded surroundings. The forest wasn't all that dense and Killian thought he could make out a road a few yards away. 

"Yeah, I got that," Emma replied a bit dryly. 

"The only question is when."

"Not a clue," Emma answered as she started to get a better look at things. Emma didn't know much about forests or plants, least of all in the enchanted forest, but there was a certain strangeness to everything; nothing seemed familiar. Killian had noticed it as well. There were trees and vines that he had never seen before, and not even in Neverland had he seen anything resembling the small white flowers that sprawled out in a patch over the ground to his left. 

"Shall we go find out, then?" Killian suggested, stuffing the storybook in his bag and gesturing to the road. Emma sighed. 

"Suppose we might as well."

They hadn’t been on the road for very long before they heard the sounds of clopping hooves and creaking wood coming up behind them. Killian and Emma stepped aside to let the cart pass, but they watched it carefully. It was odd, Killian thought. The cart was being pulled by a pony and it was being driven by someone he would have mistaken for a child if it wasn't for his grey hair, large belly, and very large, very hairy feet. 

"What in the name of-" Killian started to say once the cart had passed, turning to Emma. However, he cut himself off when he caught sight of her pale face and gaping mouth. 

"Emma? Emma is everything alright?"

His question seemed to shake her out of her daze but instead of answering him, she took off running after the cart. 

"Damn it," Killian cursed under his breath, chasing after her. 

"Excuse me!" Emma called to the cart driver. He didn't seem to hear her. "Hey! Excuse me!" The cart slowed to a stop and so did Emma, Killian right behind her. 

"Can I help you?" the cart driver asked. 

"Yeah, where does this road go?" Emma asked. 

"Are you and your husband lost?" the driver asked. 

"Oh, no, we're not mar-"

“ _Yes_ ,” Killian was quick to interrupt Emma, curling an arm around her waist, “my wife and I are terribly lost, sir,” he said, taking the excuse the driver provided and running with it.

"Well, going west it'll take you to Hobbiton," he answered, pointing in the direction he was headed, "but I expect you big folk are headed for Bree, is that correct?" he asked, and before Killian could say anything, Emma answered in the affirmative. "Then you'll want to be heading east," the driver continued, pointing behind him. "It's less than an hour up the road by foot."

Emma thanked the driver and they let him go on his way, though once he was out of earshot, Emma cursed very loudly. 

"What is it?" Killian asked, more than a little concerned. 

"We're not in the enchanted forest," Emma told him. 

"What? No, we have to be-"

"But we're not," Emma cut him off. "Zelena really fucked up her time portal."

"Well if we're not in the Enchanted Forest, then where the bloody hell are we?" Killian asked. 

"We're in a place called Middle Earth, Killian, ever heard of it?" she asked as she started walking east down the road. 

"No, should I?” Killian asked as he hurried to follow her.

"Not unless you know JRR Tolkien," Emma answered tersely. "This place is supposed to be fictional!" 

"Love, need I point out that at one point you also thought that _I_ was fictional?” 

"Yeah, but Peter Pan and Captain Hook, those stories were classics, bedtime stories and disney movies. Lord of the Rings isn't even eighty years old," she said. 

"Emma, how do you know about all this?" Killian had to ask. 

"This world, it- there were these books that I read as a kid, and they took place in this world," she explained. 

"And how can you know for sure that we're in this Middle Earth and not in just some odd corner of the Enchanted Forest?" 

"Because hobbits don't exist in the Enchanted Forest."

"Hobbits?" Killian repeated the word she had used. "Is that what that hairy cart driver was?"

"Yep, short, pointy ears, big and hairy feet and all," Emma confirmed, and Killian could tell that in spite of their current situation (that being decidedly not in Storybrooke), she was enjoying her turn as the knowledgable one. 

* * *

“You wouldn’t happen to have any gold on you, would you?” Emma leaned in to ask Killian as they approached the gated town. He simply raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Love, what do you take me for?” he asked, a grin on his face as he reached for a pouch on his belt, jangling it and the coins inside. Emma couldn’t help the little smile on her face. 

“Although we really should do something about _this_ ,” Killian added, gesturing to Emma’s attire. 

“What’s wrong with this?”

“I’m afraid that if this place is anything like the Enchanted Forest that you and your red leather jacket will stick out like a sore thumb, love.”

* * *

“Killian, this is quite possibly the most uncomfortable thing that I have ever worn in my life,” Emma said as she emerged from the grove of trees that she’d been changing behind. Killian’s mouth went dry at the sight of her; all long skirts, loose hair, and terribly flattering corset, if he said so himself. _Gods above,_ he was in trouble.

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear,” he said with a grin, approaching her and allowing himself to brush her hair away from her face. Emma was fighting back a smile - rather unsuccessfully - as she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Let’s go,” she said, brushing past him and striding towards the town.

* * *

“Now, can I get your names if you please?” the man at the counter - Butterbur if Emma recalled correctly - asked, looking up at the pair of them expectantly, the tip of his quill hovering over his logbook.  

“Morrison,” Emma answered, giving him the first name that she thought of, “Colin and Jennifer Morrison.”

“Alright Mr. and Mrs. Morrison, Nob will take you up to your room,” Butterbur said, jotting down their names and waving over a hobbit with dark hair. 

“Thank you, sir,” Killian said politely, before he and Emma followed the hobbit through the dining room and up the stairs where he led them to the second floor, third door on the left, and unlocked the door, handing Killian a key. Emma thanked the hobbit with a manufactured sense of sweetness and once he was gone, she closed the door behind her and Killian. As soon as the door was shut, she leaned back against it and let out a loud groan of anger, frustration, and exasperation. 

“Emma, love, calm down, take a deep breath,” Killian tried to placate her. 

“I’m sorry, I just- I just want to go home, to my parents and to Henry and-” Emma sighed as she paced the room, stopping in front of the window. “I just want to go home.”

“And we will,” Killian assured her. “We’ll figure this out. Now, you know this place better than I, what’s our next move?” he asked her, trying to both get her mind off of home and also get her thinking about solutions to their predicament. After a moment of thought, she had her answer.

“There are wizards in this world, and elves with powerful magic of their own. We’re gonna need their help to get back.”

“Alright, how do we find these wizards and elves?” Killian asked her, careful to keep his town open and free of skepticism. 

“If I’m right,” Emma began, “then there is a man here in this place who is friends with one of the wizards, Gandalf. But-” 

Emma was interrupted by a clap of thunder from outside, the rain having started shortly after the sun set. 

“But if he is who I think he is and if we’re here when I think we are, then we’re in for a shitstorm.”

* * *

Killian and Emma were seated at a small table in the dining room, Emma positioned so she could keep an eye on the man she had mentioned and Killian was having a hard time fighting back the jealousy that was beginning to writhe and coil in his gut. Killian had been about to say something to Emma, it wasn’t important anymore, really, when the door swung open and four hobbits walked in, each of them soaked to the skin. Killian relayed this information to Emma and he could tell that she was very close to swearing up a storm. 

“What’s wrong, love?”

“We’re in the book,” she said under her breath, “we’re in the fucking book.” She looked up at Killian to see a puzzled expression on his face. “Those four hobbits and the shifty guy in the corner are all main characters, Killian, and this is where they meet. We’re in the fucking book.”

“Okay, so talk to me, love, what do we need to do?” he asked levelly, doing what he could to remain calm himself in the hopes of calming _Emma_ down. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, before leaning in close so as not to be overheard. 

“If I remember correctly, the hobbits pay for a room but spend their evening here, in the dining room, eating and drinking. There’s either an accident that reveals one of them to the guy in the corner or he just calls one of them over to him, I don’t remember. Either way, the hobbits end up going up with corner guy to his room where he explains everything that’s going on, proves he’s a friend of Gandalf, and promises to help them get to-” Emma cut herself off. 

_That was it. That was how they were going to get help. If they followed the hobbits up to Strider’s room, she could sure as hell convince him that she was legit and then maybe he would take them along to Rivendell where they could get some real help._

“To get to where, Emma?” Killian asked carefully, covering one of her hands with his own and bringing her out of her thoughts. 

“To get to Rivendell,” she answered. “It’s a place where we can get help,” she explained with a smile, and Killian felt himself smiling too at the sight. “Follow my lead when it’s time?” she asked, that little smile still on her lips. 

“Of course.”

* * *

Aragorn watched the couple as they entered the inn and couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about them. Not sinister, not really, just - off, strange, unusual. The man was tall; he had short dark hair, an earring on one lobe, and he was dressed almost completely in black leather, a sword belted to his hip. He looked confident, sure of himself, but he seemed to be deferring to the woman - his wife, most likely, if their body language was any indication. 

The woman was a beauty, Aragorn had to admit. She was a slender woman with blonde hair, though she looked uncomfortable in her own clothes, as if she was unaccustomed to them. She was a good liar, her husband too; very good liars. But liars all the same. As they passed through the dining room, the woman looked over at Aragorn - at first with curiosity but then something like realization dawned in her eyes before she schooled her features and whispered something to her husband (who stole a furtive glance Aragorn’s way). 

It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t concerned about this new development. This strange woman knew who Aragorn was, at least in some capacity, and that was something he would have to address. _After_ the hobbits arrived. 

When the couple came back to the dining room, they kept to themselves. However, anyone who was actually paying attention to them could see that they were constantly watching the room, even as they conversed. The woman was facing the inside of the room, and Aragorn was sure that she was keeping him in her line of sight intentionally. The man had a clear view of the door and everyone who came and left. They were smart, Aragorn would give them that. 

What puzzled Aragorn was that they didn’t seem like threats. By every right, they _should_ be, but his instincts disagreed. 

He was still pondering the strange couple when the door swung open and in walked four very soggy hobbits, one of whom paid for a room under the name of Underhill.

* * *

The hobbits had returned downstairs and Emma and Killian were watching them furtively. There had been a bit of a cheer when they had entered and they were quickly called over by some local hobbits who started peppering them with questions about the Shire and the like. 

As Emma watched these goings-on, passages from the book were flooding back into the forefront of her mind. _“Men and Dwarves were mostly talking of distant events and telling news of a kind that was becoming only too familiar,”_ she remembered even as they told their tales, tales about trouble in the South. The hobbits were telling stories and the locals were getting curious. Emma caught one of them asking where the Underhills lived and who they were related to. 

_And there it was._

One of the hobbits - _Frodo,_ Emma labeled him - had called Butterbur over and had asked about the man in the corner. Butterbur told Frodo about him, how he was a ranger who hardly talked save for the occasional tale, disappearing for months or even years at a time.

“What his right name is I’ve never heard, but he’s known ‘round here as-” 

“- _Strider,_ ” Emma whispered in unison with Butterbur as he continued his explanation to Frodo. 

“Is that the man in the corner?” Killian asked in a whisper as well, and Emma nodded. 

Emma and Killian then watched as Strider waved for Frodo to come over to his table, introducing himself to the hobbit and cautioning him against him and his friends saying too much about themselves. Or at least, that was how Emma remembered the conversation going. Sure enough, one of the hobbits - it must have been Pippin, he was younger than the other three - started telling the story of Bilbo’s one hundred and eleventh birthday party and Frodo was singing a song about an inn, a cat, and the man in the moon. 

In spite of their situation, Emma and Killian found themselves laughing and clapping along with the rest of the folk there, cheering Frodo on as he sang. He finished the song and men were buying him drinks and insisting that he sing it again. When the little hobbit climbed up atop one of the tables, Emma felt dread settling in her gut. 

“What’s wrong?” Killian leaned in to ask her, his question masked to anyone else by the din.

“You’ll see,” Emma said, and her suddenly rigid posture had Killian on edge too - whatever was happening was going to be bad.

Sure enough, Frodo was jumping in the middle of a lyric about the cow jumping over the moon when he vanished - just disappeared. 

“Ah, so that’s what you were talking about,” Killian said somewhat dryly while the rest of the bar was sent into an uproar. 

“Yeah,” Emma confirmed, though her attention was back on the corner where Strider sat, watching and waiting for Frodo to reappear. Sure enough, there he was, in the shadows, and he was being scolded by Strider. 

* * *

A few hours later, most of the patrons of the bar had gone, save for Emma and Killian. Even Strider had left the common room for awhile, disappearing upstairs for a good hour and a half (closely following the four Shire hobbits, Emma noticed) before coming back downstairs and returning to his corner. Butterbur was still bustling in the back, in the kitchen, but for all intents and purposes, the bar was empty. 

Emma shouldn’t have been surprised when Strider, over in the corner, waved the two of them over. She really shouldn’t. And yet, she was. She was all of a sudden on the defensive, as was Killian. She couldn’t afford to fuck this up. Strider was their ticket to Rivendell, Gandalf, Elrond, and _hopefully_ a way home. 

“You two are not who you say you are,” he said levelly, not a single shred of doubt in his tone of voice. 

“Perhaps,” Emma allowed, “but neither are you.”

“Is that so, _Mrs. Morrison?_ ” Strider asked her, stressing the false name. Killian gave Emma a look that said _let’s just tell him, he already knows we’re lying, there’s no point in trying to keep it up, love._ Emma sighed inwardly. He was right. 

“It’s Emma,” she admitted, “Emma Swan. And this is Killian Jones. We’re looking for a way back home and I think that you can help us.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I know who you are - who you _really_ are, mind you - and because I know that you can take us - us _and_ those hobbits - to Gandalf.”

Strider was suddenly rigid and defensive - well, more so than before. His right hand drifted to the pommel of his sword where it was belted at his hip (Emma noticed Killian doing the same) and his face hardened. 

“Perhaps we should move this conversation somewhere where there is less chance of us being overheard?” Killian suggested, and Strider nodded, rising from his seat and leading Emma and Killian up the stairs and to the room that he was renting for the night. 

“What do you know of me?” he asked sharply as soon as the door was closed. 

“If you are who you say you are, then I know plenty,” Emma fired back. 

“And how will you be sure that I am who I say?”

“ _All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost,_ ” Emma recited, and Strider lowered his weapon. 

“ _From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring,_ ” Strider continued the poem, and Killian noticed a little grin creeping onto Emma’s lips. 

“ _Renewed shall be the blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king,_ ” she finished the poem. 

“Select few know those verses,” Strider said, now far more at ease with the two of them than before. “How did you come to know them?”

“That’s a bit of a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, storytime with Natalie. I started writing this with the intention of it being a short little piece and then it spiraled out of my control. I had to cut it off before it turned into a fifty chapter, 100,000+ word monstrosity. Although I do have to say that I'm tempted to continue this in the future.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, if you liked it, let me know with kudos or in a review!


	2. Bad Dreams and Early Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Killian explain themselves and start traveling towards help, or what they hope will be help, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said that I was sorely tempted to continue this one and finally it has happened! I can't say how often I'll be able to update this, my academic schedule is full as heck, but I'm gonna do my damnedest. 
> 
> I don't own Once Upon A Time or Lord of the Rings. If I did, I would be a very rich woman.

 

“And basically, we fell through that portal and landed in the woods, about an hour west of here,” Emma finished the short version of hers and Killian’s tale (the long version probably would’ve taken something like three hours). 

 

“Allow me to make sure I understand,” Aragorn said, “you two are from a land where my life and the lives of everyone and Middle Earth are chronicled in a series of books and viewed as fictional tales and stories?”

 

“Technically we both were born in another realm entirely-” Killian started to say, but Emma cut him off.

  
“Yes,” she said firmly, giving Killian a look that said _let’s not make things more confusing than necessary._ “Yes, in the world we came from, this is all just fiction.” Aragorn paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the discord between the two of them before speaking again.

 

“And your world has no magic; no hobbits, elves, dwarves, or orcs, just men,” he continued, “save for a town called _Storybrooke?_ ” 

 

“You’ve got it,” Emma confirmed.

 

“And we would really like to get back to that world,” Killian added pointedly.

 

“We leave in the morning,” Aragorn said after a moment of consideration.

 

“You mean you’ll help us?” Emma asked, not wanting to assume anything.

 

“I will do what I can.”

 

* * *

 

From what Aragorn could tell, they were trustworthy. At least, that was his gut feeling. They had been truthful while spinning their tale, as outlandish and unbelievable as it was. It was ridiculous, what they were saying, but their desire to leave, to return to their home and to their loved ones was true. (Though Aragorn suspected that the man, Killian, cared more about getting back because _Emma_ did. Even if they weren’t married like they had told Butterbur, there was something between the two of them, at least on Killian’s part.)

 

He didn’t trust them yet, that would be ridiculous, but from what Aragorn could tell, they were not working for the enemy. 

 

At the very least, they knew too much - about him and surely about the Ring - to be left to their own devices. So he kept them in sight the rest of that evening; they were there when Merry returned to the inn with tales of black riders in the streets, they helped Nob disguise the hobbits’ room. What had set Aragorn on edge was when Killian asked Emma - not terribly hopefully - about the possibility of her performing an illusionary spell. _She must have some kind of magic,_ he reasoned, _though it is impossible for her to be one of the Istari, that simply cannot be._ Magic must be different where these two were from. Perhaps her magic was more like that of the elves, he supposed. Regardless, Emma had shaken her head at Killian’s suggestion, her lips in a tight line. Aragorn would have to ask them about this magic of hers; if they could be trusted and she truly had magic, they could prove to be valuable assets until they found their way home.

 

* * *

 

“Emma.”

 

Said blonde rolled over in her sleep and groaned a bit.

 

“Emma, love, you need to get up,” Killian tried again, giving her shoulder a gentle shake.

 

“Why so _early?_ ” Emma whined into her pillow. 

 

“Because Strider says so, Swan, now we need to go,” Killian said, going to the window and drawing curtains open, letting the _very_ early sun - _god_ , it was barely dawn - flood the room. “Come on, love.” 

 

Grumbling all the while, Emma hauled herself up to a seated position. 

 

“Fine,” she said through a yawn, throwing her blanket off and somehow managing to get out of bed. _God,_ she hated mornings. 

 

“I know it’s early, love, but would you care to explain a little more about everything that’s going on here? I don’t like being in the dark,” Killian asked while she was digging through her bag (her stolen bag) for her jeans. If she was going to be trekking across the wilderness all the way to Rivendell she sure as hell wasn’t doing it in a skirt.

 

“What do you want to know?” Emma asked, taking her jeans and her shirt behind the changing screen that was set up in the corner of the room.

 

“These stories that you read, what were they about?”

 

“That’s a bit of a big question,” Emma said dryly as she shucked off her skirt - _finally_ \- and started pulling on her jeans.

 

“Alright, what were the things that that little man said were in the streets? Those black riders?” Killian tried again, hoping to get an answer to a more specific question.

 

“They’re called ring wraiths,” Emma started to answer. “I- okay, this is going to be a bit of a long answer but it all starts with this jackass, Sauron,” she started over. “He was after power, to make a long story short, and to do that he made - well, he only made one of them himself, but thats beside the point - these magical rings that gave power to the people that wore them, but they were - I guess cursed would be the best way to put it,” she explained as best as she could. “There were nine humans who took rings from him and it twisted them, turned them into these monsters, the ring wraiths, and now they’re serving Sauron and trying to get the ring that Frodo’s got. I don’t know, Aragorn - Strider - tells this story way better than I do,” she cut herself off, shrugging on her shirt and coming back out from behind the screen. 

 

“What about Strider, then? He seems to be a bit of a grumpy bast-”

 

“Oh come on, Hook, he’s just cautious,” Emma said, shrugging on her shirt and coming back out from behind the screen. “He’s a ranger, him and his people are descendent from ancient humans and elves in this world and they’re good people. Plus he’s a great swordsman and could track a fruit fly in the dark,” she added. 

 

Killian quirked an eyebrow at that. _I’ll believe that when I see it,_ he thought to himself.

 

Finally, Emma was ready to go and the pair of them made their way downstairs to the dining room. They ate a simple and quick breakfast with Strider and the hobbits and they were on their way. (After buying themselves a pony from a really distasteful man called Ferny.)

 

They had hardly gone more than a mile when Emma started realizing that this was going to be one hell of a day - damn, it was going to be one hell of a _week_ , maybe even a _month,_ who knew when they would figure out a way to get back to Storybrooke? She and Killian were stuck in Middle Fucking Earth for the unforeseeable future, with no leads, no clues, no fucking idea how to get back home. Emma started to feel despair filling her heart but she stubbornly fought it back. Despair wasn’t going to help her now. She just had to keep a strong face, keep her head, and with any luck, she and Killian would be back in Storybrooke before they knew it. 

 

Right?

 

Maybe. 

 

Emma didn’t know what she was going to do. Her plan ended with asking Gandalf and Elrond for help. She didn’t have a _fucking clue_ what to do about this. All her knowledge about portals and whatever came from the Enchanted Forest; there weren’t any magic beans here, no dark curses, no enchanted pirate ships. She and Killian were up a goddamned creek and by creek she was pretty sure she meant rapids. Looking over at Killian, where he was walking ahead of her and indulging the hobbits and their endless stream of questions, Emma couldn’t help the soft smile that grew upon her lips. She was glad to have someone with her, at least, someone she could trust to watch her back in this unfamiliar territory. When she first met him, she never would have thought that this would happen - never thought that she’d trust Captain Fucking Hook with her life - and yet here they were. 

 

* * *

 

Their first night on the road, Emma found herself unable to sleep thanks to the combination of blisters on her feet, soreness in her muscles, and rocky ground beneath her. She managed to get about an hour of sleep thanks to pure fatigue, but voices around the fire had woken her up again. 

 

“Who is she? This woman you sing of?” Emma overheard Frodo asking Aragorn.

 

“It is the Lay of Lúthien,” the man told him, “an elf woman who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.”

 

_Tolkien really loved his parallels,_ Emma thought to herself.

 

“Get some rest, Frodo,” Aragorn told the hobbit, and he followed directions, rolling back over in his bedroll and closing his eyes once more, letting sleep claim him.

 

Emma however, couldn’t get back to sleep, so instead she got up and went to go sit by Aragorn.

 

“How is she?” she asked as she approached him, “Arwen, I mean,” she clarified.

 

“You truly do know everything about our lives,” Aragorn remarked, shaking his head though Emma caught a hint of a smile on his face. “She is well, as far as I know,” he answered her question. 

 

“I always liked her character,” Emma mused. “The books said that she was beautiful,” she remarked, and Aragorn’s smile told her that Tolkien hadn’t been lying about that.

 

“Is it true that you mistook her for Lúthien the first time you met her?” Emma asked curiously.

 

“Aye,” Aragorn admitted, “she is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. I love her dearly.”

 

“I can tell,” Emma told him. His words rang true the whole time he spoke about the elf woman. The ranger and the savior’s conversation lapsed into silence for a few moments, the both of them staring into the fire, though Aragorn’s ears were tuned into their surroundings and his gaze was constantly darting up from the fire to keep an eye on things. He found himself tempted to ask about Emma’s relationship with Killian, but held his tongue. That wasn’t his business. 

 

“How do you think that you and Jones ended up here instead of where you expected?” he asked instead, a question that had been bothering him for awhile since it had occurred to him that afternoon. 

 

“I-” Emma started to answer, but cut herself off. “I don’t know,” she said. 

 

A beat. 

 

“I guess,” she started to continue, “I guess I had been thinking about the books I read as a kid. When things got rough, I turned to these books, to this story. I guess it was a coping mechanism for me. But I was thinking about this story when the portal opened and I guess that was enough to throw it off,” she speculated. Aragorn nodded in understanding. 

 

“You should try to get some sleep,” he said after a few more moments of silence.

 

Emma sighed inwardly. He was right. She should at least try, otherwise she’d be damn miserable in the morning. With a shrug, she returned to her bedroll and closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind and let the evening air lull her to sleep.

 

* * *

 

_“Give it back, Ben!” a ten-year-old Emma Swan shouted for all she was worth at Ben Zimmerman, who had in his hand her borrowed (stolen) paperback copy of The Hobbit. She’d been reading under one of the trees by the monkey bars at recess when he and his dumb friends had decided to go pick on the new girl._

 

_“Why don’t you come take it back, loser?” he taunted, and the ten-year-old girl practically snarled, jumping on the boy who was significantly taller than her, scratching at his arms as he held the book up over her head. She kicked at his shins, tried to knock him down, and he and his friends laughed at her, laughed at the tiny blonde foster kid, the tiny blonde new girl._

 

_Emma tried to kick Ben in the balls, something she’d learned from older girls she’d met in group homes, and she missed, but not by much. Her kick to his pelvis was enough to make him stumble back, snarling at her. Emma made to run at him, but before she could get to him, he had ripped the fragile paperback down the spine._

 

_Emma went to rip him limb from limb, but it wasn’t Ben Zimmerman anymore. It was Lily. Lily Fucking Page. The girl who had been her friend, who had rekindled Emma’s hope for belonging, for happiness, until she_ **_lied_ ** _to her, snuffing out that spark like a wet blanket. Lily laughed at her, picking up the remains of the book only to toss them aside, landing in a puddle. Emma darted to the puddle to try to save it - she wasn’t ten years old anymore, she had glasses, her hair was in a ponytail, she had the leather jacket she won in a bet against Ally Henson - but as she reached for it, a boot-clad foot came down on top of it, splashing Emma in the face._

 

_Wiping the rancid water away with her sleeve, Emma looked up to see Neal. The man who had shown her love, who she had loved once, only for him to leave her alone, leave her to take the fall for his own damn crimes, knocked up at the age of seventeen. Emma got to her feet - she noticed that she felt more like herself now, at her full hight, her red leather armor on her shoulders - and she drew back her right arm to punch the bastard in the face, only to hear her name being called from far away._

 

_“Emma,” the accented voice said, and it was familiar, but she couldn’t tell why. She stopped, mid-swing, and turned to try to figure out where it had come from._

 

_“Emma,” the voice called again, and now she recognized it as Hook’s, but she couldn’t find him anywhere._

 

_“Hook?” she called, confused._

 

_“Emma!” he said her name again, and this time, she felt someone shake her shoulder. Emma turned around, her blonde curls whipping around her head, but no one was there._

 

_“Emma, come on,” Hook’s disembodied voice said again._

 

_“Hook? Where are you? I don’t-”_

 

With another shake of her shoulder, Emma startled awake, sitting bolt upright and alert. It was still dark and her frantic eyes darted around until she found Killian kneeling beside her. 

 

“You were just dreaming, love,” Killian insisted, his eyes somehow kind. “You were tossing and turning and Strider means to wake us all at dawn anyway,” he explained himself. Emma nodded in understanding, not wanting to give away anything about her dream. The last thing she needed was to retell the stories of her shitty bullies when she was a kid. 

 

“Thanks,” she said, genuinely grateful to him for waking her from the unpleasant dream. “Did I wake anyone else?” she asked a bit worriedly. Killian shook his head. 

 

“No, the hobbits sleep like rocks,” he said, turning to look at the four slumbering figures around the fire. “Would you like assistance packing up your bedroll?” he asked, turning back to Emma. She shook her head. 

 

“I’ve got it, why don’t you ask Strider if there’s anything we can do before we hit the road,” she suggested, and with a nod, Killian went off to talk to Aragorn and Emma turned to her messy bedroll. 

 

_We need to find a way home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Did I do it justice? Is this something that I should keep going with? Let me know in a comment! Thanks for reading, drop a kudos if you liked it!


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